


Long Flight Ahead

by charsd773



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Airplanes, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Brotherly Arguing, Bumbling Sirius, First Meetings, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, James is a Wingman, M/M, Meet-Cute, Remus has a nose-ring, Welsh Remus Lupin, he also giggles, it kinda comes off that way though??, james and sirius don't hate each other, sarcastic remus, sort of banter, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 15:50:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18391523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charsd773/pseuds/charsd773
Summary: A cute stranger on the plane keeps kicking Sirius' seat.





	Long Flight Ahead

“James if you don’t stop bouncing your leg I’ll throw you off the plane and you’ll be swimming back to London.”

The messy-haired boy turns his head to face Sirius with a grin that contains the faintest trace of an apology, but mostly just looks amused. “I’m not even touching you, and I’ll go right to sleep once we’re in the air anyways. I just get nervous about the takeoff.” He nudges Sirius with his shoulder. “Don’t tell me you aren’t excited to be going home?”

Sirius is. He and James had embarked on what was meant to be a weeklong trip to New York, but they ended up staying in the city for closer to a month. Their primary goal had been to check out a football team interested in signing James now that he was out of university (“They had a gorgeous pitch, but under no circumstances will they get me to call it _soccer_.”), and it turned into 3 weeks of James sitting in on a few practices while Sirius got to check out the New York City art scene he’d always heard about. He was also freshly graduated, with a Fine Arts degree, and wanted to have some fun before actually looking for work.

It was a good trip, but now they’re on a plane at six in the bloody morning and someone has already kicked his seat _twice_ from behind him.

“Just because you’ve all but signed a contract with the Lions doesn’t mean you need to jostle my seat the whole flight. I’ll get crabby.” Of course, at that moment, there’s another sharp hit to Sirius’ seat from behind. The timing makes James snicker, and Sirius closes his eyes to take a deep breath.

“You’re already crabby and we haven’t even taken off yet.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sure. Just wipe that haughty expression off your face before the flight attendant explains to us the responsibility that comes with sitting in an exit row. They might deem you unfit to help save lives, then you’ll have to give up this leg room.”

It’s several minutes later while they’re waiting for permission to take off when yet another kick reaches the back of Sirius’ seat, and he decides to say something before he needs to deal with nine hours of seat kicking. He loosens his seatbelt enough to twist and face the aisle seat behind his.

“Pardon me, but there is somebody actually sitting in the seat you keep kicking-” The bite dies from his words once he gets a look at the man behind him.

“I’m so sorry mate, my leg just keeps cramping, but when I try to move around- I just don’t have that much space back here so- I mean that’s not an excuse, honestly,” the man comments, mostly to himself. “I’ll be more careful with bumping your seat.”

The stranger is not American, that’s the first thing Sirius notices. His accent curves around the words into something more familiar than the harsh, spitting New York cadence that had been a shock upon first exploring the city. He could be from Wales, maybe?

Sirius doesn’t contemplate the origin of his accent for longer than a moment in his mind, because a much more pressing realization is _holy fucking shit_ this is not a bratty 13-year-old kicking his seat. This is a beautiful man. This is a very tall and beautiful man. His long legs seem to be folded almost in half in front of him, one mid-adjustment is pulled halfway to his chest and the other is mostly poking into the aisle beside him. He’s wearing a pullover sweater and joggers that come up just too short on his legs, revealing mismatched socks, both with clashing tartan prints. And if Sirius is being honest with himself, he’s only half paying attention to this man’s apology because his curly brown hair keeps falling just over his eyes. There is also a silver hoop piercing in his left nostril that just didn’t seem to go with the rest of his style, but Sirius finds himself staring at it for maybe a second or two longer than is normal before responding.

“No, don’t even worry about it! I mean, looks like you’ve got a lot of leg to handle there.”

James snorts at the bumbling comment, and Sirius wishes he had said anything but that, with just too much enthusiasm compared to the irritated tone he had just a moment ago.

Luckily, the stranger doesn’t look offended, just slightly amused, and the faintest blush graces his face to make way for a small, kind smile. Meanwhile, Sirius can’t help but wonder if it’s just the poor airplane lighting, or are those really freckles he sees? As the man seems to draw a breath to respond to the leg comment, which Sirius would really just like to move on from, he changes the subject.

“You’re Welsh, I’m guessing?” The man’s parted mouth twitches into the ghost of a smirk, and Sirius hopes it’s because he recognized the accent rather than the definitely red tips of his ears. Of course he had his hair pulled up into a bun, and he can feel them burning under the scrutiny of the man’s gaze.

“Spot on. I lived there most of my life before moving to London a few years ago.”

“That’s so cool!” Sirius responds, again, much more enthusiastic than he means to.

The man releases the faintest breath of a chuckle before both of his thick brows furrow, “Definitely cool. The ever exciting rain-and-sheep combo lends to a thrilling life.” The man keeps a straight face but the sarcasm is obvious.

James is, at this point, silently shaking at Sirius’ expense, but takes a deep breath before finally turning around as well. “Tell you what, mate, why don’t we switch seats? We’ve more leg room in the exit row and I get less motion-sickness in an aisle seat. It’ll be mutually beneficial.”

The man’s eyes flick from James back to Sirius for a second before smiling and nodding. “As long as it’s mutually beneficial.”

“Brilliant.” James quips, and starts gathering his neck pillow and headphones. The man makes himself busy gathering the book and small bag he has with him, and Sirius takes the opportunity to turn back around and deliver a sharp elbow to James’ ribs.

“You don’t get motion-sickness you prat.”

“I also won’t get any sleep on this flight if you’re planning on badly flirting with Freckles McLonglegs back there.” So they _were_ freckles. “You can talk about how cool you think sheep are.” James pats Sirius on the shoulder before shuffling into the aisle, and within a moment the tall man is sitting right beside him and looking very grateful to be able to stretch his legs.

Sirius at this point realizes he doesn’t know the stranger’s name, and pulls a bit of his usual confidence out of his arse to extend a handshake, “My name is Sirius, by the way.”

“I’m Remus,” he accepts, with a warm and calloused hand.

Sirius barks a quiet laugh and adds, “Well I’m glad your parents gave you a shit name, too.”

“Well I say you’ve got it worse. At least there aren’t many puns to be made with ‘Remus’.”

“Oh, on the contrary. Name puns are one of my redeeming factors.” Sirius is glad to receive a laugh from the man- _Remus_.

“I can’t imagine they’re all that creative, you sure you want to call that redeeming?”

Now, Sirius has dealt with making jokes about his name for 22 years now, and the familiarity of the topic gives him a confidence boost. He puts a hand to his heart in mock-offense.

“Bold words from someone who was violently kicking me in the back not 5 minutes ago.”

Remus lets out a laugh so low it can almost be described as a giggle. “I really am sorry,” he says after a breath, “My mum likes to joke that I still haven’t grown into my legs.”

Great. The cute Welsh man who wears sweaters, blushes, is endearingly tall, and upon a closer look- _yes_ , he _definitely_ has freckles, is also a momma’s boy. Sirius wants him.

With a ‘fuck it’ attitude, Sirius comments, “I’m sure your boyfriend doesn’t mind, though.” It’s not an original line, but who wants their time wasted?

Remus doesn’t seem to mind the choppy segue, as his smile doesn’t falter when he responds, “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

Sirius furrows his brow as though Remus has presented him with a complex equation to solve. “I see…” Sirius raises one shoulder into a shrug, “Were you looking to change that by any chance?”

Remus giggles (fucking _giggles_ ) once again, and with his ears slightly reddening from where his hair curls over them, he replies, “Well, I did run into this fit posh bloke not too long ago. I was thinking about asking for his phone number.”

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this on my tumblr (charginger) about a month ago, so I figured I should post it here as well. Leave a comment if you enjoyed it!


End file.
